Enemies By Design
by IncessantOblivion
Summary: When a simple medical consultancy involves her in a dangerous political battle, Sakura is forced to oppose a man she trusted above all others…and the feelings she begins to develop for him. Kaka/Saku.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: So I haven't been around for a while, but this story has been ruminating in my head for some time so I thought "What the hell?" and just started it! It's my first attempt at Kaka/Saku so it's very exciting for me! I hope you enjoy what's to come.**

Enemies by Design

**Summary: When a simple medical consultancy involves her in a dangerous political battle, Sakura is forced to oppose a man she trusted above all others…and the feelings she begins to develop for him.**

* * *

I. First Contact

It was a beautiful day.

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing (but, most importantly, nowhere near her)…and the tea was _wonderful_. And well deserved, Sakura generously surmised. Ino could call her an old woman til she was blue in the face – Sakura hoped that one day it'd truly stop her breathing and therefore talking – there was nothing like a good pot of tea after a long, strenuous day of doing absolutely nothing.

When Tsunade had called Sakura into her office yesterday, Sakura hadn't expected to like what was coming. Nothing good ever came out of being ominously summoned to Tsunade's office, as it usually meant her shishou would start harping on about her amount of logged overtime hours…and amount of intentionally unlogged overtime hours. The conversation usually went something like:

"Sakura. You're working too much."

"I respectfully do not agree with that statement, shishou."

"You were at the hospital 95 hours this week."

"However would you know that, shishou?"

"That is none of your concern."

"You're spying on me."

"I'm checking up on you."

"Without my knowledge or consent. That's spying."

"I'm Hokage, I'll spy on who I want. You're working too much. Stop. Sleep. Be social, talk to people who aren't colleagues or patients."

"Whatever you say, Hokage-sama."

"Okay, now I know you won't do it."

And so different versions of the same conversation ensued at least once a fortnight, always resulting in Sakura never reducing her working hours…just finding out who the spies were and developing means of avoiding them.

But yesterday had been different. Instead of telling her to stop working so much, Tsunade had given her a mission straight off the mark. And it wasn't just some cut-and-dry-reconnaissance-because-we're-in-a-time-of-peace mission on which she was merely the token medic. It was high profile, unclassed, sensitive in nature, and worth big money. It was so secret she didn't even know who her client was or why she was seeing them. She had assumed it was a medical issue. Why else would Tsunade send her? She was strong, yes, but most certainly not the strongest shinobi in Konohagakue no Sato. However, she was one of the most adept medics and the Hokage's trusted apprentice. Who better to send for a matter of such medical secrecy and sensitivity?

So she'd become excited. Finally, something to _do_. Something that would require every morsel of her attention and intelligence. Constantly working at the hospital was worthwhile, but lately it had become routine, repetitive. Peacetime meant very few shinobi returned from missions with mysterious, inexplicable symtoms that no one knew how to explain, much less treat. Those types of injuries were her absolute favourite. It meant she had to hit the research books and uncover every last fragment of information about any symptom ever recorded and, through nothing but the potency of her mind, piece together a puzzle of history and biology to formulate an answer. And that was just the first part of the procedure. Once she had gathered relevant information and diagnosed the patient, she'd then have to create an antidote that had not previously existed in order to save that patient's life, often working under an extremely tight time limit depending on the level of deterioration the patient was experiencing.

It was thrilling. It was life-affirming. It removed her from everything but the life she was saving. Nothing else mattered. Everyone left her alone, let her work, didn't hover or nag or complain about the sleep she hadn't been getting. They wanted to save a life, they let her work.

But now? Peacetime. Relative peace, anyway, as there could never be complete peace in a land of shinobi nations. Everyone was always watching everyone, hoping to be the first to uncover some nefarious plot to kill all of mankind and destroy the world as they knew it. That's what it usually amounted to, anyway. But for the last two years? Peace. No major incidents, no startling battles, no more names added to the Black Book, no more targets.

It always struck Sakura as depressingly ironic that the one thing shinobi worked towards the most was also the one thing that frustrated them the most.

Peace.

The shinobi nations had been formulated in a time of war to protect nations that had been at war. Therefore, even now, when there was no war, there was nothing for shinobi to do other than general maintenance. But there were only so many times you could fortify borders and perfectly execute training drills before shinobi got restless.

Konoha was restless. _She_ was restless. As much as any shinobi in existence would deny it, they all got frustrated at peace…and frustrated at themselves for not liking peace. It was a good ideal to work towards, one many had thought was never achievable. But when somehow it was achieved two years ago, shinobi threw up their hands and exclaimed 'What now?' What indeed.

Konoha needed war to function, as it was built for times of war and the people residing there were trained to combat in it. They lost meaning without war. They lost purpose. They lost the ability to further their skills, strive to be the best, because there was no longer anyone better to fight against, to test their skills against. The thrill of meeting unknowns and thrilling challenges in combat was gone, lost in repetitive training with a familiar rotation of partners.

Soon they would start brawling, start trying to uncover forbidden techniques, start terrorizing the innocent, start leaving. Tsunade was well aware of these inevitabilities and was, as yet, unable to uncover a means by which to prevent it.

However, she _had_ managed to provide Sakura with an unclassified mission – practically an extinct species in the nation's current environment. It had taken every ounce of her significant willpower to force herself to remain immobile and not jump up and down, squealing in resplendent glee.

She would have squealed too soon anyway. This mission was a dirty hoax, created by Tsunade to force her out of Konoha, away from the hospital, away from work and into the fold of a beautiful, picturesque, laid-back, charming town a mere day's walk away.

Sure, the client was real as far as she knew. She had received summons – _summons!_ – directly upon her arrival instructing her to take residence at the Sleepy Hollow Inn (that name positively inspired thoughts of death by boredom) until she was further summoned – _more summons!_ – to a secure place of the client's appointment.

Tsunade would have known that Sakura would have come here to this permanently half-dead village with nothing but hours to kill…doing nothing. Drinking tea. Looking out a window into a street filled with people who all looked the same: rich and affluent. Was there no poor here, or did they merely reside in the forest surrounding the walled and gated village? She supposed it made sense that this place was so ridiculously well-kept and absent of any imperfections, like a homeless man or - gods forbid - an orphan. It was the town that contained the Daimyo's prestigious residence.

Sakura peered through the window at the vast mansion now. It was impossible not to see the imposing structure of stone and wood as it towered above everything else, smack bang in the centre of the village, surrounded by a veritable fortress of rock and men armed with steel and spikes and all manner of pointy weapons. This village was ex-clu-_sive_! Why, she had had to bear a permit containing the Hokage's seal in order to be allowed in! She wondered why there was an inn at all, non existent as the tourists were. This village was just simply not a place that allowed a casual wanderer into its luscious folds. No, that would be a security risk. Who knew what reprehensible characters from other obviously disreputable villages would do to sneak in? No, no. That would not do. Apparently.

Even the tea she was currently drinking had cost almost as much as her weekly grocery bill. She was going to damn well sit here and enjoy it, and make it last as long as possible because she suspected the owner would kick her poorly-clothed ass out the door as soon as the last drop disappeared down her throat. And, really, where else did she have to go after this? She could look forward to an evening of counting the cracks on the ceiling, which would probably be a futile exercise as she doubted her inn even had any cracks on its ceiling. Ah, the lives of the rich - bereft of such titillating activities. How did they do it?

It was as she was contemplating the meaning of existence (as one does when one has nothing else to do) that she spotted something interesting. Or rather, some_one_ interesting, someone who didn't quite fit in with the other people on the street.

It could have been his clothes: plain black and unornamented by the fashionable trimmings of the other high-class residents. It could have been his gait: unnaturally smooth and light. It could have been his stance: internally focussed and unaffected by his surroundings, unlike his peers who were obviously only walking through the street and not travelling in a gilded carriage so that they would be seen. It could have been that he was naturally…beautiful. There was no other way to put it. His features were symmetrical in a way only nature, not makeup or corrective jutsu surgery, could perfect – all sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw line, straight nose. It could have been the muscular overture of his physique, apparent even through his ill-fitting clothes.

But it wasn't any of those things. Not really. It was the shocking white hair that looked like it was permanently electrocuted. It was the hunched shoulders over an all-too-familiar perverted book. It was the hole just above the right elbow of his shirt that had been caused by her stray kunai when she was thirteen.

It was Hatake Kakashi.

And he wasn't wearing a mask.


	2. Chapter Two

**Don't you just love it when there's no Author's Note? So read!**

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II. Unmasked and Unknown

What happened next was pure reaction. One second she was staring open-mouthed at what she strongly suspected was Kakashi's back and the next she was on the street, rapidly filling the space between them. The enormity of what she'd just seen was too much to process immediately. She needed to see it again, to be sure that after _years_ of constant speculation she had actually _seen_ Hatake Kakashi's _bare face_. It was too surreal and would continue to be so until her hungry eyes could partake of the view for more than a passing moment.

Finally, after what seemed like both one millisecond and an eternity, she extended her arm forward, braced her index finger for impact, and poked Kakashi square in the back. She'd poked her former sensei in the back many times in her youth - every time she'd wanted to ask him one of her multitude of precocious questions. Intelligence was all she'd had to offer back then, after all. Still, it hadn't been enough to usurp Sasuke and Naruto's respective positions as Ridiculously Gifted but Seriously Messed Up Uchiha Prodigy and Most Troublesome Student Ever in the History of All Time, thereby granting them a shared 90 percent of Kakashi's time and attention…and a girl couldn't thrive on 10 percent.

Kakashi's back had seemed a lot softer back then, padded by the thick, serviceable material of his coveted jounin vest, one of which Sakura now owned herself, proudly stored in the nether regions of her closest (those accursed things did nothing for a girl's womanly shape). Actually, this was quite possibly one of only a handful of times she'd seen him without that distinctive icon. He had looked simply wrong those past few times, and that hadn't changed. Part of who Kakashi was, part of his perceived identity through her eyes at least, resided in that vest…and that hair, and that Sharingan, and that awful book, and those fingerless gloves, and that sloped hitate, and – most of all – that mask. That now _nonexistent_ mask.

All these thoughts passed through Sakura's mental filter of importance during the few torturous seconds it took for him to turn around. He only needed to turn his head halfway before she let out a gasp of stunned recognition. She knew that side profile. She had relentlessly studied and, admittedly, even sketched it, as it had been all that had offered an elusive glimpse of what mysterious wonders lay beneath. She had memorised the smooth slope of his nose, the slight, barely discernable pout of his lips, and the firm curvature of his jaw when she was 12...and some images never strayed far from the surface of her vast memory bank.

She had desperately hoped to prove to Ino-pig that not only didn't she have Sasuke in her team, she also had the coolest, best looking sensei. That structured side profile had almost fulfilled her pointless pre-adolescent dreams of having the coolest-looking team that more than made up for the visual blight of uncool-ness personified that was Naruto. However, as Ino had always annoyingly pointed out, it would never really count unless they could see his entire face, full frontal and naked (and they'd actually used those exact words at the tender age of 12, completely unaware of the inappropriate double meaning).

Well, Sakura was seeing it now and guess what, Ino - she _did_ have the coolest-looking team in what was probably the entire history of all genin teams! Or at least, she'd _had_ it once upon a time. Kakashi could more than make up for the detriment that was 12-year-old Naruto on his own, even if Sasuke had been like an Ebisu reincarnate.

"Kaka-"

And that was as far as her exclamation of surprise proceeded before his hand firmly clamped down on her mouth and he leaned down to whisper instructions in her ear, something he'd done countless times before. But this was the first time she could feel the warm softness of his lips tickle the sensitive outer rim of her ear, the first time his light breath wasn't hindered by the opaque material of his dark mask. It was the first time her eyes had been presented with the smooth, pale curve of his neck, unshielded and bared to her hungry gaze.

Everything was new, a revelation.

"Follow my lead."

That wasn't.

Sakura found herself automatically, reflexively responding to the recognizable command, one that had not been issued from his mouth for many years, but one that still struck a chord of familiarity within the deepest recesses of her subconscious. This was Kakashi-sensei, this was his voice, and she trusted him implicitly.

However, she had not expected him to hug her, for that was what he was currently doing. There was no other way to interpret one of his hands on her lower back, firmly pressing her into him, his other hand intimately digging into the hair at the base of her scalp, his nose and mouth pressing into her crown, his lips gently brushing against the tip of her forehead.

She couldn't remember Kakashi having ever hugged her before. He was not the type of sensei to provide or offer physical comfort, and she had sensed this from the first so she'd never sought it from him. Sure, she'd been in physically intrusive situations with him before, times of crisis in which personal space was not a luxury that could be considered. That was normal for shinobi, though, and he was her sensei, she was his student. There was always a distinct emotional barrier of professional impersonality between them, so automatically, unconsciously constructed that she hadn't realised it had been there until now, when it wasn't.

He was holding her as a man held a woman, not how a sensei held a student, or, more specifically, how a _male_ sensei held a _female_ student. There was no emotional detachment to be found in the possessive tenderness of his stance. Sure, she hadn't technically been his student for some good many years now, but she had always thought that a sensei-student relationship still existed between them still, one of respect and not a little bit of unspoken emotional and physical distance. This felt strange, unusual. She couldn't determine if it was necessarily wrong or right – such stark terms of black and white – but it was mostly certainly not welcome to her startled subconscious.

"I told you not to approach me in public," he murmured gently.

A certain hard urgency to his otherwise soft tone belied his need for her to go along with whatever charade he was currently enacting.

"I…I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." Which was true in a roundabout manner. She hadn't been able to help going after him upon first catching sight of him. Kakashi had always told them that when lying they should always stick as close to the truth as possible for that extra level of authenticity.

"Let's go talk someplace more private. Where are you staying?"

She was momentarily distracted by his fingers seductively scraping along her scalp under her hair. Well, it felt seductive. She felt like she was supposed to be seduced, placated. Like a scorned lover. Was that her role? If so, why?

Then it dawned on her, a realization that would have been made apparent far sooner had she not been solely preoccupied with laying eyes on his damned nose.

Kakashi was on a mission, and she was interrupting it, jeopardizing it even. Why else would he not be wearing his ever-present mask for a casual stroll down the street when he wore that mask for such mundane tasks as sleeping and, disgustingly, drinking? A wave of horrified guilt coursed over her and she was ashamed that her childish curiosity could have possible ruined what could have been months of hard cover.

When was the last time she'd seen Kakashi around Konoha, anyway? It had been at least 10 weeks. She was accustomed to his frequent, long absences, but those were usually due to his expert work avoidance techniques, not long missions. Then again, she had no idea what he was up to these days.

Was he still a sensei, guiding and training another team of clueless genins? Somehow that didn't sit well in her stomach. Kakashi was _her_ sensei, the sensei of Team 7 only. She felt that if he had taught other teams since, the fragile bond that still threaded them all together would fade further than it already had.

Was he a simple jounin, conducting and carrying out missions on the Hokage's explicit orders? He couldn't be ANBU – they didn't execute missions without uniform. This was deep cover, _very_ deep cover if his mask less face was any clue to pick up on.

"I'm staying at the Sleepy Hollow Inn."

With a kiss on the forehead, to which Sakura had no idea how to respond, Kakashi took her hand in his and lead her on. It was a mercifully short walk, as it gave her enough time to be utterly stunned and stupefied, but not enough time to start processing the myriad of sensations that were tumbling through her overloaded nervous system – like the feel of his lips on her forehead, and her hand in his. These were sensations too alien and uncomfortable to compute immediately. She would store them for later, let her analytically medical brain pick through them in a moment of meditational silence. Not that she'd ever been any good at those, which hopefully meant she'd never have to think about it at all.

She trailed after him in a daze, subject to his steady lead. She surmised she probably looked exactly like the part she was currently playing – that of the crazed ex-lover. She could practically feel the craziness her eyes were emitting. Maybe if she looked into a mirror she would scare herself. Maybe she could make up for her stupid mistake.

Kakashi asked for her room number, she gave it to him. Kakashi asked for her key, she gave it to him. The inn was mercifully single story, so there were no trickly stairs to navigate in her brainless state. Kakashi probably would've had to instruct her to lift one foot above the other had such a need been present.

As soon as the door was shut and locked behind them, Kakashi's tenderly pitiful expression dropped and became one of studied nonchalance. Sakura wondered if this was his default expression, always hidden safely behind the mask so no one would have to suffer through the discomforting disinterest of his gaze.

She wondered how many other expressions he possessed that had previously been sequestered beneath the now absent black fabric, and she was surprisingly eager to discover them all.

"What are you doing here, Sakura?" he asked quietly as he sat on the room's only armchair, motioning for her to sit down on the bed. This is when she knew he wasn't happy. He never got outwardly mad, never raised his voice. It was when he was deceptively quiet that she and the rest of Team 7 had really started shaking in their sandals.

But she was far too distracted by his face to feel the full weight of his displeasure. She was far too focused on watching the movement of his lips, his jaw, the expression in his eyes.

_Wait, eyes?_

Gazing lazily back at her were two obsidian orbs, not one and a creepily swirling Sharingan. Had he used a jutsu to disguise it? If so, it was expertly executed. No matter how hard she stared at it, she couldn't see past whatever was concealing it. She couldn't even discern any specific chakra placement around the area. Simply fascinating. She wondered from whom he'd picked up or, more likely, copied the jutsu. She wondered if he'd teach it to her sometime when-

"Sakura?"

Oh, right. The question.

"I'm on special assignment from Hokage-sama," she replied formally, desperately hoping to regain even a scrap of the professional dignity she'd lost within the past five minutes.

He raised a measured eyebrow. Perhaps his expressions seemed so carefully controlled now because he could no longer let them have free reign. Perhaps that is why he wore the mask, for the freedom it provided.

"What mission?" he interrogated.

"A medical consultancy," she responded automatically.

"Whom for?" he continued.

"I have no idea," she replied honestly.

He visibly halted at that. Obviously her answer had taken him by surprise. He studied her hard for a few lengthy seconds before commenting, "Well, you're not lying."

That particular comment made her bristle with indignation.

"Why would you think I'm lying? Why would I lie to _you_, Kakashi-sensei?" she snapped, her vow to remain professional forgotten.

"Why did you unexpectedly accost me in the middle of the street?" he quickly responded.

Now that just made her gape in disbelief. "I didn't _accost_ you; I poked you with my finger! And you weren't in the middle of the street; you were on the sidewalk like any normal person," which was unusual behaviour for Kakashi in and of itself. "Don't exaggerate," she mumbled.

"I recall that same finger doing quite a fair amount of damage to certain public Konoha training grounds in the past…" he mused.

Okay, he had a fair point _if_ one _hypothetically_ assumed she was trying to 'accost' him.

"Well, this time it was just my plain old finger, chakra free, trying to get your attention. That's all," she promised, simultaneously wondering why she'd have to reassure _Kakashi_ that she was not out to assassinate him. What was he _doing_ here?

"What are you _doing_ here?" she asked, figured she might as well.

"Why were you trying to get my attention?" he followed smoothly, completely dismissing her original question.

She decided to let it slide. When Kakashi decided to avoid something, he would avoid it until his dying breath regardless of how implausible and ridiculous the avoidance was.

"You don't have your mask on, in case you hadn't noticed!"

From the startled expression on his face, apparently he _hadn't_ noticed. Or he'd forgotten at the very least. It made her wonder how long he'd been without it if it ceased to feel abnormal to him now. Surely taking off that mask after _decades_ would be akin to taking dirty, road-trodden sandals off after a non-stop week-long mission…times a thousand. That would not be a feeling of blissful release that would go away in a mere few hours.

He suddenly looked a little…self-conscious.

"Ah. Yes, I suppose you would be a little curious about that," he sheepishly admitted as he rubbed a hand over his bare jaw.

A bare jaw she could not stop staring at. She had, in fact, also reminded _herself_ of his state of undress (that's what it seemed like) when she'd reminded him of it. Now she didn't want to stop looking.

It felt like that time she'd accidentally walked in on him shirtless years ago when she had been looking for him at his apartment. It hadn't occurred to her 13-year-old self that her sensei was actually a _man _who might possibly require a personal living space in which to conduct personal _things_. So she'd just walked on in. As they'd stood stock still and startled at each other's presence, she'd experience a mixture of fascination and horror. Fascination because that was the first shirtless male she'd seen since Naruto (ew) and Sasuke (swoon) and he was a _man_, not a 12-year-old boy. Horror because that was Kakashi-sensei! Double gross!

His bared face provided the same, if not greater, level of exposure. But there was no horror this time, just intense and complete fascination.

"Curious is a mild way to put it."

Now he looked even more uncomfortable. She distinctly remembered instances he'd been uncomfortable in the past – basically every time any of his students displayed any form of affection towards him. So this was what he'd looked like all those times? It was so…cute.

_Cute?_

Moving on.

"Could you please stop looking at me like that?" he all but begged.

"Like what?" she replied breathlessly. His face really was a wonder…

"Like you want to touch it or something," he grumbled.

Touch it? Touch it? What a marvellous idea!

"I do want to touch it!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Can I?"

His mouth gaped open. Oh, she loved it!

"Of course not. Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly; I just have to relearn you."

His eyebrow rose again. So maybe it wasn't a measured expression, just a reflexive one? These were important details she needed to know!

"Relearn me? Makes me sound like an experiment. I feel mildly objectified."

"Now _you_ don't be silly! You know what I mean," she replied as she leaned forward off the bed, eager to impart knowledge. "Every person has a set of facial expression unique only to them. It's part of what makes them who they are. It formulates the way people perceive them, familiarise themselves with them, _know_ them. I feel like I need to know you all over again! It's like everything I previously knew about you is inconsequential now."

"You use very big words," Kakashi mumbled.

Sakura rolled her eyes at his lame attempt at a subject change, "I'm a medic. Big words make me seem like I know what I'm doing."

"That's comforting. I shall remember to call on you the next time I have a life-threatening injury."

"Don't think you've distracted me. Even now I'm committing every one of your facial expressions to mind and associating them with memories from the past. It's very enlightening."

Kakashi sighed, "Now I feel positively cut open and disembowelled." He paused, "And conveniently awake to experience the entire procedure."

"Stop being melodramatic."

Kakashi frowned thoughtfully, "Can't say I've ever been accused of being melodramatic before."

"No, just late, pervy, and lazy," Sakura responded with glee. This strain of conversation was exposing a whole plethora of his previously unknown expressions.

He put a hand over his heart as if wounded. "Teenagers these days. No respect."

Sakura scowled. "I'm 21."

Kakashi blinked. "I could have sworn you were 17 last year, the year I turned 30."

Sakura fought to contain her smile. "Sensei, you've been 30 for the past 6 years."

Kakashi shook his head in disbelief. "First you insult my upstanding character with unfounded accusations of tardiness and laziness-"

"And pervy-ness," Sakura helpfully interjected.

Kakashi speared her with a withering glance (another expression committed to memory), "And then you insult my intelligence, cruelling insinuating I don't know my own age."

"Melodramatic…" Sakura hummed.

Kakashi nodded slowly. "I shall add it to my list of vices."

The silence that ensued became progressively awkward as Sakura realised this was probably the longest conversation they'd had alone since…ever. All the dealings she'd had with her sensei in the past had been within the midst of a team, within the midst of Naruto and Sasuke who, as previously established, tended to dominate the atmosphere around them. Perhaps if she thought about it really hard she could come up with an occasional word or two they'd exchanged on a mission or in passing on the street.

However, she was afraid if she thought about it too hard she'd be presented with the realization that she didn't really know Hatake Kakashi at all, despite the fact he was a major contributor to her formative years as a shinobi and a fondly regarded Important Person in her life. She was afraid those old, forgone issues of insufficiency and abandonment from her youth would return with the knowledge of his general disregard for her.

Kakashi awkwardly cleared his throat, effectively breaking her morose train of thoughts. "You can't touch my face."

A giggle escaped her. "Sensei, I don't actually want to touch your face." It'd be far too weird after just establishing she barely knew the man. And he _was_ her sensei. Former sensei. Whatever.

The extent of his visible relief was astounding to witness. Not only was the succinctness of his expression a marvel to behold, but she was also curious as to why he'd be so averse to having his face touched. Was he really that private? Did he hate all forms of intimacy that much? Could a person be that neurotic without suffering from some mental or emotional disorder (she suspected he suffered from both to some extent)? Or was it just her?

She didn't like that one.

Kakashi cleared his throat again. Really, the level of awkwardness in the room was just getting ridiculous. Why should she feel so uncomfortable around this man who'd been present for almost half her life? Perhaps he just felt awkward because he was still bare-faced. It was probably a state he never thought she'd see him in. She certainly hadn't thought she'd ever be so fortunate as to win Team 7's longstanding bet as to who could see it first!

"I'd best be off then. I think I've spent enough time here now," he said as he gracefully rose from the cushy armchair.

Sakura rose too, much less gracefully even though they were both shinobi. How did he _do_ that?

"Enough time for what?" she questioned.

Kakashi only gave her a knowing smirk. A smirk! She'd never seen him smirk before! She wondered how many times he'd done that at her and she hadn't realised. It was a little disconcerting and very intriguing to observe. She was wholly caught up in such lofty musings until the meaning of the knowing smirk hit her like a ton of bricks, formed from equal parts of weird and awkward.

"_Oh!_" And because the idea that people were assuming she and her sensei – _Kakashi-sensei_ – were having sex warranted something more specific: "Ew."

Kakashi laughed. He _laughed_.

"I guess I'll never have to worry about my ego getting too big around you, Sakura," he mused before smiling fondly down at her.

Sakura was simply astounded. She could count the number of times Kakashi had laughed – truly, uninhibitedly laughed – on one hand. Those were the times when one of Team 7 had taken him by surprise and he'd had no time to damper his reaction. Those were precious memories to her as they were small signs that perhaps Kakashi actually did care about their wellbeing somewhat after all, because surely he'd have to care about the only three people in his acquaintance that could make him honestly cheerful for just a few seconds. She immediately and irrevocably knew that this moment, the image of his unmasked laugh and smile, would be stored under the Precious section in her memory bank. She _never_ wanted to forget this moment. It was significant in some way she couldn't understand just yet. Another mystery for the mediation section of her mind.

His smile was simply radiant. She was embarrassed at herself for thinking of it in such clichéd, embellished terms but that's what it was: like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. It made him look like a completely different person: young, carefree, unhindered by the weight of responsibility and memories of loss and pain of the past. When he smiled, he was the Kakashi he would have been without the hard shinobi life, wrought with trials and hardships that prematurely aged his otherwise youthful face.

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't even blink. He was beautiful.

And she knew there and then that there was so much more to this man than she'd ever imagined possible.

And that she didn't really know him at all.

* * *

She was looking at him funny again. Kakashi found he didn't like it when she did that because it was quite impossible, even with his advanced skills of observation and deduction, to tell why exactly she was looking at him in that peculiar manner. If he had to throw out a guess – and apparently he did have to – he'd say she was looking at him as if he was a stranger: a weird, old man who had marched her off the street and molested her in her bedroom and she was only just now realising what had happened.

Well, he supposed he might look a little strange to her without his mask and hitate covering a significant portion of his face. He might also suppose that she'd find him a little weird without it. It was always hard to tell how people would react to his bare face. Well, actually, 'always' meant 'never' because no one he was professionally acquainted with – that was alive – had seen him unmasked. And he definitely supposed he had practically dragged her off the street, but she had seemed quite willing to be boneless and follow at the time. He even supposed he could grant the nonexistent molestation claims some ground as well, since he _had_ been holding her quite inappropriately and he _had_ kissed her on the forehead. However, all that could be explained away with his need to spontaneously improvise and provide a legitimate excuse for a random, young, pretty (he certainly supposed that, objectively speaking, she was quite pretty), pink-haired girl (surely she was not 21) to accost him in the middle of the street.

Or as Sakura liked to put it: aggressively poke her finger at him on the sidewalk. Didn't have quite as nice a ring to it as _accost_, but he once again supposed he'd have to err on the side of accuracy this time.

Perhaps he was getting melodramatic after all.

Then again, he absolutely supposed he was allowed a generous portion of dramatics after she had almost given him the sixth largest fright of his life. As it was, it came in at a close number 13, which was a fairly good effort on her behalf. It often took surprise nudity and large, fiery explosions – or a combination of both – to get into the top 10.

The absolute third last thing he'd expected upon entering into a deep cover mission of indeterminate length was to see a former pupil recklessly charging down the middle of the street (or, as some other less exciting version would have it, sidewalk) with dangerous appendages extended. He was lucky she'd only managed to apprehend his back. She could have quite easily poked his eye out. He'd already lost one once, and didn't think he'd be so fortunate as to have another dear friend nearby to offer him a replacement again.

Mainly because he had no dear friends left.

Regardless, he was quite desperately hoping that Sakura would be done with her secret medical business by morning, and thereby remain firmly out of his way. He did not need to have the added burden of looking out for her on this mission. Besides the inconvenience to himself, he did not want to see her get caught up in this in any miniscule way. The sooner she exited the village, the sooner she'd go back to her sheltered existence as a hospital medic in a time of peace. He liked her being the one he didn't have to worry about.

However, this secret medical consultancy of hers reeked of suspicion. That she had not been admitted to the residence of whomever she was consulting immediately upon her arrival negated that this mysterious person was someone of significant importance, and that their potential illness – an illness serious enough to warrant the special attentions of the Hokage's apprentice – could, in some unknown manner, affect more than just the person suffering from it.

_Could it be…?_

No, that was unlikely, purely because it would be far too convenient for him if it were so. Factions of his life rarely aligned in such a favourable manner. Nevertheless, he would endeavour to keep tabs on her movements as much as possible during her time here. Even if the mysterious patient was merely a noble with herpes, information was currency in this game of thrones and whoever had the most won the prize.

* * *

**A/N: I'm well aware this is starting off slowly, but fear not! The plot thickens...in my head, anyway. **


End file.
